A short story about Christian who finds himself having had his idyllic break on the lake shattered and now he sits with the tomatoes. He can’t escape and someone is hungry.
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Christian sits with the tomatoes now. It’s not by choice. “How’d the fishing trip go?” his colleagues back at the steel factory would ask him, but how could he possibly reply to such a question? “Captured by a horde of docile tomatoes. Went well, thanks.”
The heat bothers him.
It had been warm out on the lake, bobbing up and down in the idyllic setting, waiting for the line to be pulled by the catch of the day. There’s irony for you, thinks Christian. Who’s catch of the day now? Christian is sat with arms tied tightly to the back of the chair upon which he sits. His ankles are also tied together and a rope around his thighs bind him tightly to the chair.
The tomatoes mock him.
They are not just ordinary tomatoes, but tomatoes the size of apples. They sit around him, snugly hanging from their green bases, looking content, well looked after.
“But you’re not, are you,” says Christian to the tomatoes. “What liberation do you have? You’re in the same boat as me. I’m tied to this chair, you to your stems. You’re either going to be picked for human consumption or left to go rotten to then be hurled by some unruly pubescent over the garden wall at the neighbour’s greenhouse. Yes, a greenhouse, like this one. See you on my plate someday.”